


(Not) That Type of Girl

by fellowshipper



Series: grief in the sound, guilt in the fame [1]
Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Broken Narrative, F/M, back and forth, femme Loki
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 06:14:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1015086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fellowshipper/pseuds/fellowshipper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a god (or goddess) showed mercy, one was inclined to worship accordingly, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Not) That Type of Girl

**Author's Note:**

> It started, as most things do, with Tumblr. 
> 
> "real talk: why is there no fanart of lady loki with her legs on tony’s shoulders and tony just going to town i am J S" ([x](http://acheaptrickandcheesyoneliner.tumblr.com/post/55751911500/real-talk-why-is-there-no-fanart-of-lady-loki)). 
> 
> I was enabled.
> 
> I just wanted porn. That's all. I don't know how this happened.

 

“Have you considered that there is dwarf blood in your veins?” 

Tony didn’t bother turning around. By that point, he didn’t even need to sigh anymore. She – he, whatever – already knew everything he said and everything he did before it happened, so why waste the energy? Instead, he squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, twisting the screwdriver a bit harder as he worked on tightening up a loose panel on a new gauntlet for the suit. 

Loki, as always, didn’t care. 

Her heels – she _always_ wore heels, thin, tapered, deadly things that probably doubled as weapons, and they made her absolutely tower over everyone when she was already taller than most men to begin with – clicked methodically to indicate her trek across the concrete floor. Slow, paced, certain. If she’d ever feared Tony’s reaction, even to the slightest degree, she’d long since gotten over that. 

“You are always holed up underground, tinkering with your new gadgets and treasures. There’s a spell I could perform for you, if you’d like. One which could reveal if your ancestors were ever . . . excessively friendly with the _dvergar_.” 

“We have that ‘magic’ too. It’s called DNA testing. Or, if you’re low-rent, Maury Povich.” 

“You’re cross.” 

This time Tony did sigh. 

“I’m tired of you just popping in whenever you feel like it. You show up for an intergalactic booty call, disappear for weeks, then show up again like nothing ever happened.” 

There was that chuckle behind him, low and throaty and not entirely human, and Tony cursed sharply under his breath as he missed the screw and jabbed himself in the wrist with the point of the screwdriver. _Click, click_ , as Loki walked closer, bringing with her that ubiquitous scent of cinnamon and wood smoke and something that reminded Tony of the damp decay of leaves in the fall. 

“Tony Stark. Do you feel used?” 

“Listen, sweetheart,” Tony shot back immediately, wheeling around on the stool and immediately regretting doing so. Loki stood there on the other side of his workbench, tall (so very tall) and regal, curves under tight black satin where Tony usually found sharp lines and angles. Long black hair tumbled in waves over bare shoulders the color of fresh snow, spilling over her chest to drape tantalizingly over full breasts already partly exposed by the black and gold cocktail dress she wore. On someone else, it might have looked cheap and desperate; on her, with her lips stained blood red and sharp green eyes lined in black, she just looked hungry and prepared to do whatever was necessary to feed her appetite. 

With a slight twitch in his jaw, Tony dragged his eyes from Loki’s chest to her smirking mouth and finally up to her eyes. 

“It’s not about whether or not I ‘feel used.’ I’m an asshole, but I’m not that much of a hypocrite. I just think you could at least give me a head’s up sometime. Send a postcard. _Something._ ” 

“I could,” Loki agreed easily enough, walking forward with measured strides and looking like nothing so much as a panther stalking its prey. Male or female, Loki had the uncanny ability to be both unbearably haughty and terrifyingly focused at the same time, and just that second Tony honestly couldn’t tell if she meant to ride him right where he sat or tear out his ribs and fashion a corset from them. 

“I could,” she continued, fingertips trailing along the edge of the table in feigned distraction, “but you forget that I don’t serve at your leisure.” 

Tony tried, really, to keep from rolling his eyes. It didn’t work. Here came the speech about how Loki was so superior to humanity and how Tony should be privileged to even stand in her presence, and true to form, Loki didn’t disappoint. She closed the remaining gap between them and cupped his chin, pointed nails scraping over his jaw as she turned his face up to meet hers. There was no compassion in her eyes, no love, but there was amusement; for someone like Loki, Tony found, that was the best he could hope to find. 

“Every breath you draw is by my continued mercy, Stark. Please do remember that.” 

Like he could forget the searing pain in his chest when Doom strung him up and used him as a human battery, taking advantage of the arc reactor’s boundless energy no matter how it destroyed its host. He couldn’t forget the confusion of seeing Loki – female then, all supple hips and rounded breasts and yet, somehow, even colder and crueler than before – looming over him, carelessly ripping the wires free from Tony’s chest and turning a ruby-lipped sneer at him as he screamed. “Quiet,” she told him in a voice less than comforting, but he obeyed anyway, gnawed his lips until his tongue swam in blood. He told himself afterward that it was his body going into shock that made him moan when Loki leaned down and licked her way into his mouth, only to pull back and reveal teeth stained with Tony’s own blood. 

He couldn’t forget the scent of death and sweetness that clung to her or how it filled his senses until all he could see or smell or taste was _her_ , distracting him throughout the entire debriefing later with visions of her long fingers so dangerously close to the arc reactor but avoiding it in the end. “So this is your secret,” she’d mused aloud as she plucked the cables from his chest, and Tony saw a mad god prodding him with a scepter and puzzling over why he couldn’t be so easily controlled, and he saw the answer light up a different (but still identical) Loki’s eyes right then and there. 

But he’d be damned if he admitted any of that out loud, so he pulled a face and wrenched back from Loki’s grip. She let him go, though not before scratching her nails under his chin. 

“I know you get off on this whole ‘controlling the little human’ act, but seriously, doesn’t that ever get old? I mean, after the first few times you’ve fucked a guy, you don’t really need to keep reminding him why you like coming around.” 

He leaned away and removed the gauntlet, pointed at her with the screwdriver. 

“Why like this, anyway? Are you stuck in this form or did you just decide you really like having tits? They’re great tits, I’ll give you that, but . . .” 

Loki smiled – sneered would be a better word, because Tony wasn’t even sure if Loki knew how to smile at all – and invited herself onto the workbench in front of him, impossibly long legs crossed primly, chest out, hands braced behind her on the desk, and a hunter’s look on her face. Par for the course, really. 

“Would you like me to change?” 

Tony caught himself staring intently at the thighs put on display so nicely for him as the dress, already sinfully short, rucked up where Loki sat. His eyes traced the creamy pale skin until it disappeared under smooth black fabric even darker for its contrast, and when he looked up finally Loki was staring at him expectantly. 

The first time Loki came to him like this, smooth and soft (no, never soft, not even for all the well-rounded hips and breasts) and obviously horny, Tony hadn’t even noticed. It was two weeks out from his less than stellar visit to Doomstadt and he’d busied himself with constructing a new suit with a new alloy he’d gleaned from studying the Doombots. And sometimes, despite all his technology and his ingenuity, sometimes Tony liked to go old school, which was why Loki appeared from thin air to find Tony in a sleeveless tank top, smudged with oil and dirt and hammering the imperfections from a sheet of glowing hot steel. She’d made a dwarf joke then, too, something about a smithy and his tools, and then before Tony could react she was tracing the veins in his arms and licking sweat from his neck, and that was pretty much the end of any resistance he might have mounted. 

She came to him several times after that, occasionally in the male form Tony didn’t like as well (not that that in any way kept him from letting himself be fucked against the repaired window in the Stark Tower penthouse, the same one Loki threw him out of so many months before, and it didn’t stop him from licking his lips when he saw Loki’s cruelly twisted grin reflecting over his shoulder in the glass). The female form was different enough to let him believe he wasn’t as screwed up as he knew he was for wanting to actively fuck and be fucked by the same creature that had tried to kill him more than once, yet familiar enough with those haunting green eyes and that rictus grin and unknown energy at her fingertips that if Tony closed his eyes, he could imagine Loki’s hand around his throat in an entirely different context. At least, a much more enjoyable one than being hurled to his death. 

It was the same backwards reasoning that allowed him to meet Loki’s gaze with his most charming (most shit-eating) Tony Stark smile, the one that had never failed to get him anything he wanted – including, as it turned out, a beautiful, deadly, possibly unstable alien who pretended to be a god who also pretended to be a woman sometimes. 

“You wanna know what I’d really like?” 

He leaned forward, dropping the screwdriver on the table and just barely touching his fingers to Loki’s ankle; he had practice, he didn’t need to look to see how to unbuckle the strap of her heel, could follow by touch alone how to slide it from her foot and let it drop to the floor. He wouldn’t have looked away even if he’d needed to, not when doing so would have cost him the sight of Loki’s irises disappearing in a wash of black. 

“What I’d _really_ like,” he went on, circling his fingers around the ankle and marveling at the strength in the muscles surrounding it, every bit as strong as any man he’d known because Loki didn’t just like contradictions, he _embodied_ them, “is to bury my face between your thighs and eat you out until you’re screaming – not even my name, just nonsense. Sounds. Grunts. Whatever. I don’t want you to even be able to think.” 

Loki’s nose wrinkled slightly and she pried her foot out of Tony’s hands. 

“Crude.” 

Yeah, that was some bullshit, and Tony didn’t hesitate to call Loki on it with a raised eyebrow and a pointed glare. 

“Says the guy who’s making a solid effort at turning comeplay into a goddamn Olympic event.” He paused and reached for Loki’s ankle again, gratified when she allowed it. “Or does that not count now, seeing as how you’re all ladylike?” 

“It’s crude because I sincerely doubt you’d be able to put me into such a state. You vastly overestimate your abilities, Stark. Perhaps your mortal women are easily won. I most certainly am _not_.” 

Tony pretended to give that some thought as he very lightly drew his fingertips along the arch of Loki’s foot. 

“Yeah, see, no. I’m gonna have to call your bluff on that one. If I wasn’t doing it for you, you wouldn’t keep coming back.” 

“Maybe I’m bored.” 

“Or maybe you’re full of shit.” 

Loki sniffed disdainfully and looked away, bringing a sharper grin to Tony’s face. 

“No, you’re _definitely_ full of shit.” 

“Is this how you lure other women into your bed? By boring them with idle bragging until they agree to let you have them just to shut your mouth?” 

Tony shrugged and began working on Loki’s other shoe. 

“Pot, kettle, yada yada. So what’s it gonna be? You just come here to do a really lame job of insulting me, or was there something else you wanted?” 

The answer wasn’t verbal, but it was no less an answer; Tony drew in a slow, steadying breath when Loki pressed one of her newly bared feet to his crotch and rubbed him through the denim of his jeans. 

“I do like a woman who knows what she wants,” he murmured, rolling forward on the stool until he was close enough to rest comfortably between Loki’s legs. 

Tony was, to put it mildly, no stranger to sex. He lost his virginity (or, more accurately, eagerly threw it away without a second thought) at fifteen, and even though that first time was uneventful and over far too quickly, he never looked back. Tony Stark knew engineering, mathematics, and sex, not necessarily in that order, and he knew them all with equal skill. For as much time and energy as he devoted to each, they should have become routine for him if not actually boring. And sometimes, usually when he was willfully distracting himself from bigger issues by taking a pair of twins to his bed or smooth-talking a man into just “trying it” for the night, it really was textbook perfect. He never had complaints because even when his brain was on autopilot, Tony could still reduce an otherwise intelligent being to mere whimpers and gasps, but that didn’t mean he put much thought into the act, either. 

Usually, though, that simply wasn’t true. He liked the challenge of learning the nuances of a new body, liked making comparisons and drawing diagrams in his head of what places to touch and what spots to avoid, where to touch, lick, bite, or otherwise tease to get a desired response. It wasn’t so different from engineering, after all, or at least not his brand; any half-trained idiot could build a robot or a bomb, but it took a special attention to detail and a sense of drama to create a piece of art. Likewise, anything with a pulse could fuck; he wasn’t so sentimental as to call it “making love,” but he damn sure preferred a more involved method than simply sticking his dick into a hole and thrusting until he was finished. 

Thankfully for him, Loki was just the sort to indulge his need for perfection. 

Everything about Loki screamed to be worshiped (when Loki himself wasn’t doing the screaming for just that). Tony had never really believed in the God his mother trusted and he was far from willing to believe that a couple aliens who dropped out of space were the actual gods worshiped by drunken Vikings over a millennium earlier, but even Tony had to believe in _something._ Loki, as it turned out, was only too happy to oblige him, and if he chose to interpret their relationship as something more than it was, as a mortal supplicating itself to him, if it kept his more bloodthirsty impulses in check because he had an outlet for his all-consuming desire for recognition, who was Tony to argue? 

So he didn’t protest when he knelt, willingly, before a would-be god ( _his_ god, a dark voice whispered in his mind from time to time), when he felt thin fingers tighten in his hair and hold him in place while his throat was filled and his nose was pressed to Loki’s groin and Loki’s _everything_ flooded his senses until he made up the entirety of Tony’s universe. It never even occurred to Tony to claim that he wasn’t worshiping at some kind of perverse altar every time he rested on his hands and knees and welcomed Loki into his body, as much a possession as any of Loki’s twisted bodysnatching episodes could ever achieve. He never pretended to do anything but whisper prayers against Loki’s throat as he leaned over him and shifted his hips just that certain way he knew would always make Loki groan, no matter what form he took. 

Basically, Tony liked making people happy however he could, if he cared enough to give a damn in the first place. Loki was seemingly only ever happy when someone made grand gestures of adoration to him. Sex and worship were more or less interchangeable for both of them, so why not? 

Clearly Tony wasn’t too far off the mark, either, if Loki’s tendency to visit in varying degrees of needy lust were any indication. Loki didn’t push him away or consider him unworthy of attention, and (usually) he didn’t mind when Tony took his time. Which was great for Tony as well, given that this was by far his favorite part of sex, that slow dance in which he let his eyes and sometimes his hands do most of the work, when he took in his partner like any other puzzle to be solved. 

The foot against his crotch pushed harder, insistent, and Tony chuckled to himself. 

“Where’s your sense of timing?” 

“Only one of us has the luxury of being extremely long-lived. I would prefer if you moved sooner rather than later, before I have to find someone else to fill your place.” 

Tony looked up with his patented smirk. 

“Baby, you wouldn’t even know where to start trying to fill my place.” 

“Such confidence. I’m not one of your human women so easily amused by your flash and pride.” 

“You’re not even really a woman, so that’s kind of a given.” 

The foot pressed harder, painfully so, and Tony squirmed but laughed anyway. 

“So tell me,” he started, sliding his hands up her ankles, her calves, up to her knees to push them farther apart, “does that mean you just came by for a quickie?” 

“Even that would be preferable to your tiresome prattle.” 

“Again, if you didn’t get something out of me, you wouldn’t keep coming around. So respectfully, your highness, blow it out your ass.” 

Something dark and unmistakably dangerous flashed in Loki’s eyes, reminding Tony that, right, Loki was still a decidedly volatile thing with mood swings like no other, and Tony still had trouble finding exactly where Loki drew the line between “I’m amused and will allow your insolence” and “I’m going to make a kite tail of your innards.” Just as quickly as it came, the look vanished, faded into something considerably gentler, and Tony let out a slow, thankful breath that he’d merrily skipped right through another of Loki’s unpredictable shifts. 

And when a god (or goddess) showed mercy, one was inclined to worship accordingly, right? 

Tony closed his eyes and turned his head to the side, lips barely grazing the inside of Loki’s left knee. After an eventful night of drinking with Thor some months back and learning of Loki’s actual biology, Tony had been more than a little excited to get his hands on the god again in the most literal sense. He’d expected freezing cold skin and had been prepared to take a nasty case of frostbite for the team and in the name of science. What he found instead was that Loki was disappointingly normal, just as warm as anyone else. Even when she rather forcefully invited herself into his bed that first time, even as she tightened down around Tony and sank her teeth into his shoulder and rocked her hips against his hard enough to hurt, she was every bit as feverish and sweaty as any human woman would have been in the same situation. Whatever her ancestry, that part of her was either so weak or so well suppressed that Tony would never have known any different without Thor’s alcohol-induced rambling. 

For about five seconds, Tony was upset that he wouldn’t get to update Loki’s S.H.I.E.L.D. file with the results of his investigative report. Then Loki had twisted beneath him and raked her nails down his back, and any halfway coherent thought in his head whited out, science be damned. 

Time went on and Tony decided he was glad he was wrong for once. That would have been more cruelty than he could bear, if Loki showed up on a regular basis dressed like this and watching him with very clear and lewd intentions but shrouded in toxic skin that Tony couldn’t appreciate the best way he knew how. As pliant as Loki ended up going, in either form, she evidently thought the same. 

Tony shifted a bit and kissed the opposite knee, glanced up to see Loki smiling serenely down at him, and he offered up a playful grin of his own as he stood and placed his hands on her hips. She tipped her head to the side, waves of black hair spilling over one shoulder. 

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Tony murmured against her lips, so close to kissing he could feel the heat of her mouth and feel the curve of her lips as they tugged up into a broader smile. 

“You find this form pleasing, then?” 

“Little late to be asking me that a year down the road, but yeah. Very pleasing.” 

“Shall I keep it?” 

He didn’t mean to, honestly, but Tony’s eyes drifted lower to the ample cleavage put on display for him, a gesture which earned him a sharp laugh. 

“As I thought. I quite like it myself. I would say that you’d be surprised by how easy men are to control when an attractive woman even hints at offering her body, but you’ve already stopped listening to me so it’s rather a moot point.” 

“I’m listening,” Tony mumbled, fascinated by the slow rise and fall of Loki’s chest. “Something about something-something, control, humans are animals, your usual shtick.” 

“Do you want to know why else I like it?” Tony looked up and found himself unable to look away this time once Loki’s eyes caught his, ensnaring him as well as any snake charmer might. “When I have needs to meet, this body is far less messy. What it lacks in efficiency, it more than provides in sensitivity as well.” 

The carefully raised brow full of silent challenge dared Tony to question him, but that wasn’t at all necessary. As absurd a thought it may be, Tony had little trouble imagining Loki going back to her . . . wherever it was that she stayed when she wasn’t paling around with or betraying one of her allies of the week or trying to take over a tiny European city or whatever, skin still glowing with sweat and dirt from the recent battle, energy still radiating off her like an aura of tangible power. She’d strip on her way to the bedroom, leaving behind pieces of armor and clothing until she was completely bare and stretched across the bed, and as she replayed the fight in her mind, she’d let her hands roam. Her neck, first, just like Tony did when he leaned in to kiss it, trailing his tongue down the vein much more pronounced in the male form’s neck but which still made Loki shiver even as a woman. She wouldn’t waste much time in reaching her breasts, teasing her nipples until they hardened and ached – and there in his workshop, Tony knew _that_ about her, too, that he only had to roll his thumbs over them and even through the fabric of her dress, Loki would still arch against him and drop her head back so that the tips of her hair brushed the tabletop. On her own, once her breathing quickened and blood swelled her clit, she’d drop one hand between her legs and rub in ever-faster circles until she was clutching the sheets with her other hand and sucking in great gulps of air, chasing after an orgasm she’d keep denying herself at the last second just to keep the buzz of arousal thick in her blood. 

Here, though, now, Tony wasn’t going to give her that, not just yet. 

“You think about me when you do that?” he asked, pinching her nipples just hard enough to be felt through the dress, and Loki grunted something unintelligible. “When you’re, uh, meeting your needs. You think about me?” His eyes darkened a bit when Loki pushed her chest farther, higher, seeking more contact, and he bent to drag his tongue down the long expanse of her neck and to the top of her partially exposed breasts. “Or do you think about killing me?” 

In a healthy, sane relationship (not that Tony had much experience with that, either, maybe even less than Loki did), that realization would have sent a reasonable person scrambling for safety. For Tony, who was at least sixty-four percent certain Loki wouldn’t _really_ slaughter him either in battle or in his sleep, it was just another weird kink that he’d learned to embrace. Loki had issues (“a metric fuckton of issues,” in fact, which was the precise term he used until Loki discovered his file on Tony’s private server), so he had to get them out one way or the other. Dropping by every couple weeks or so to fuck Tony into a blissful stupor was the least destructive outlet besides yoga, and it wasn’t like Tony was going to complain about _really_ good sex on a regular basis. 

But worse than that, speaking to a darkness Tony hadn’t really consciously acknowledged until recently, Tony _liked_ the danger inherent in sharing a bed (or a couch, or a car, or any reasonably semi-flat surface) with a sworn enemy and someone who had tried multiple times to wipe him out of existence. There was some sort of nihilistic, probably Freudian crap about the connection between death and sex and a conflation of desire for intimacy with a desire for total annihilation, but Tony just chalked it up to being a thrill seeker of the worst kind. What other thrills could possibly work after he’d flown a nuclear missile into space to stop an alien invasion, and _survived_? Apparently, worrying that his lover was going to mate with and eat him was the only adventure left on the list. 

“Yes,” Loki answered in a hauntingly familiar rasp, just a couple octaves higher than her male voice, and Tony waited for clarification. Yes, she thought about him? Yes, she thought about killing him while she got herself off? Yes, he was hitting all the right spots and needed to keep going? She didn’t elaborate, and Tony hated partial answers even more than being outright ignored, so without warning he latched onto a breast and bit down around the nipple, harder than he’d ever dare with a human woman, but Loki could take it. God, he could do _anything_ and she’d take it and still demand more from him, and okay, maybe that was also a big draw to him. Catharsis on both sides. 

“ _Yes_ ,” she repeated with the word pulled out on a moan, gasping when Tony’s teeth began to grind against her. “I think about you. Sometimes I’ve killed you. Others I’ve found you dead and . . . reacted badly.” 

Revenge murder sprees, then. That said something conflicting about Loki’s feelings, Tony thought, if she was willing to seek vengeance on his behalf. Or maybe there was some kind of super-villain creed where one’s arch-nemesis was off-limits to others (but then that would be Thor, wouldn’t it? Tony did have a tendency to overthink these things). 

“Mostly, I imagine the two of us stealing a moment or two for ourselves. Let the world burn around us. What concern is it to us?” 

“Drama queen.” 

“You’ve never thought the same?” 

“Didn’t say that.” 

Loki huffed quietly, clearly unhappy with the purposefully oblique answer, but if she meant to scold Tony for his non-response, the intent was lost on a breathy moan as Tony pulled down the top of her strapless dress until the fabric bunched just under her breasts. 

“This never gets old,” Tony said through a slightly crooked smirk, rolling his thumb over a newly exposed nipple and leaving a thin smear of dark grease around it. 

“I should hope not.” 

“God, me too. The day I ever get tired of sex is the day I’m clocking out of this world.” 

Which, again, was not entirely true, not when there had been plenty of times before when Tony only went through the motions for physical release but without any other concerns for either himself or his partner. But then, the self-titled god of lies had to expect a certain degree of dishonesty from anyone else around him, didn’t he? 

Bending a little, Tony curved the end of his tongue and flicked it against the nipple until it went hard again, standing out enough for him to scrape over it with his teeth and earn a satisfied hiss from Loki for his trouble. He reached forward to cup both breasts in his hands, pushing them together as much as he could so that he could lick each nipple quickly with just the barest movement of his head. If he knew Loki – and he did – she’d come from that alone if he kept it up long enough (because again, being a man of science, he’d devoted a frankly unforgivable amount of time to finding out just how little he could do and still get her off, and his favorite result was when he managed to make her orgasm only by rutting against her, fully clothed, like a pair of horny teenagers. He still wasn’t sure exactly how that worked or if she just faked it to humor him, but she didn’t seem like the type to humor _anyone_ ). 

“Stark,” she called from somewhere over his head, her voice low and deep and all but dripping with want, and Tony smiled as he released her breasts. 

“Something you want there, princess?” 

“For you to eventually, one blessed day, exhaust your supply of insipid by-names.” 

“Probably not gonna happen anytime soon.” 

“Yes, I’m aware of that. In the meantime . . .” 

Tony planted his hands on the desk, palms flat against the cool granite surface, and tilted his head up at Loki, angelic grin plastered on his face because by God (or gods), if Loki wanted to interrupt him while he was working and play games, then she could damn well play along. 

“Tell me what you want.” 

Loki rolled her eyes again (her favorite hobby around Tony, he was convinced, aside from openly mocking him, his work, his facial hair, and every life choice he’d ever made). 

“No, really. I need a little direction here. See, I was in the zone just now, in my own little world with my gear and my tools and everything, then you came in here and threw me off. So if there’s something you want besides the pleasure of my admittedly fabulous company, you need to speak up.” 

The only thing keeping Loki from kicking him hard enough in the gut to knock him through the far wall, Tony thought, was the steady, constant physical contact he kept with her, even as he teased. His fingertips skated down over her sides, dipping along her ribs and then back up, over her arms, her throat, everywhere but where she most wanted them. 

“I believe you said something about burying your face between my thighs.” 

“Oh, yeah. I did say that, didn’t I?” 

“And I intend to hold you to that.” 

Tony chuckled and leaned forward to suck at the hollow point at the base of Loki’s throat, feeling more than hearing the rumble in her chest as he did so. It was soft enough at first, a contented purr that turned into a guttural roar as Tony’s right hand went straight to the source, palming between her legs and immediately being engulfed in urgent heat. 

“You wore underwear this time. I don’t know whether I’m impressed or disappointed.” 

“I’m not that type of girl.” 

That got a full laugh out of Tony, unexpected as it was, and he responded with pushing aside the thin silk (what was it with this guy/woman/god/alien/thing and its obsession with rich fabrics? Oh, right. Royalty) fabric of her panties and dragging his middle finger along her slick folds. 

“You’re already wet. You get started without me, or you just that happy to be here?” 

“I’m not responsible for automatic biological functions.” 

“Ooh, talk dirty to me some more,” Tony cooed, eyes going half-lidded in feigned arousal. What he tended to forget was that Loki had many names, and his reputation as a trickster wasn’t unearned, so he was taken somewhat off-guard by Loki touching her fingers under his chin and lifting his face up toward hers; there was no feigned arousal on her end, at least. 

“I would have you on your knees with your fingers thrusting as deeply into me as you can manage. You will lick and suck and kiss and bite until you feel me clench around your fingers, and then you will work even harder to leave me positively dripping and open for you. Then I would have you take me and work me as skillfully as your fingers just did, with my cunt still wet with my own release and eager for yours. You would move in and out, in and out, in and out –” she punctuated each word by moving her hips accordingly, alternately pushing into Tony’s hand and away from it to mime riding his cock “—until you finally came and filled me in one long, hot rush. You would then dip your fingers inside me again and feed me your still-warm seed.” 

Tony swallowed hard, his throat suddenly too dry and tight to be of much use for talking (and maybe that was Loki’s goal all along, to shut him up and spur him into action, and if so, _good fucking job_ ), and Loki took advantage by placing the pad of her index finger against his lips to keep him quiet a while longer. 

“And then, after I was satisfied that you hadn’t missed anything, I would return to my male form and mount you and ride you into the bed until you cried for mercy – and then, _then_ , Tony Stark, I would laugh and tell you no and have my fill of you.” 

Loki generally wasn’t one for dirty talk, Tony had found; he thought it was beneath him (like most everything else in the known and unknown universe) and trite, something whores did to appease desperate men, not something he should lower himself to consider even in a playful fashion. Maybe being in a female body gave him a different perspective – or, more likely, he just wanted to make Tony watch his mouth more closely in the future. Again: mission accomplished. 

“I . . .” Tony trailed off, eyes locked on those damnably red lips curled up into a mockery of a smile. His cock twitched in his jeans, reminding him that the sooner he stopped teasing, the sooner he could attend to his own very impatient needs. “Yeah, that’ll work. Right. Lean back for me.” 

Loki also wasn’t generally fond of taking orders, but she did make exceptions now and then, usually with regards to sex. Now was no different, as she rested back on her elbows and spread her legs just far enough to envelop Tony between them. He flashed a quick, grateful smile up at her before resuming his mouth’s southward trek down her body, through the valley of her breasts, over her stomach, down, down, until her pubic hair tickled his nose. It was neatly groomed, at least, and why wouldn’t it be? Everything about Loki was carefully constructed, regardless of the form he took, so of course his female form would be as immaculate as any other. Tony was grateful for that, too, not just because he always felt vaguely creepy whenever he slept with a woman who shaved every single hair to make herself porn star smooth and pink. That was a bonus, but mostly he liked the way the hair felt against his face as he kissed his way down the creases of Loki’s thighs, liked the way her scent clung to the coarse hair and wafted under his nose every now and then with just enough force to drive him wild. Maybe it was just natural pheromones, maybe Loki was working some kind of voodoo sex magic on him, whatever. Tony couldn’t care less. It _worked_ , whatever it was. 

His hand hadn’t lied to him; she was wet already, the flimsy material of her panties damp and darker where he’d rubbed her just moments ago. And yeah, maybe he was a pervert (likely), but it wasn’t like she protested when he braced himself with his hands on her thighs and leaned in to nuzzle her crotch, stroking his nose against that damp spot and breathing deeply to take in the scent of what he could only consider pure and honest lust. 

“See? This is much better than idling your time away with your metal trinkets.” 

He nipped at the edge of the panties for that little crack, making Loki yelp quietly in surprise and tighten her fingers in his hair in a reciprocating warning. He ignored that and pressed on, flattening his tongue against her underwear and moving up until he could trace the ridge of her clit as it became more pronounced. His tongue folded over it once, twice, teeth scraping lightly, until Loki began to wriggle impatiently. Tony laughed and hooked his fingertips into the thin waistband of her panties and then pulled them down, carelessly letting gravity do most of the work once they were far enough down Loki’s legs to drop the rest of the way to the ground. 

“I could do this all night,” he pointed out with a somewhat wistful grin, matched only in wickedness by the nostalgic glint in Loki’s eyes when he looked up. He could and _had_ done exactly this all night before, though it left his mouth numb and his jaw aching and his knees and back stiff from having knelt in an awkward position for so long. Loki had generously offered to put him on his back so that she could ride his face, but that ended quickly once Loki discovered the “delightful” little game in which she could suffocate Tony in the process. True, Tony wasn’t averse to a little breathplay (or at least he hadn’t been before the arc reactor led to some unfortunate cardiac issues) and “asphyxiated via cunnilingus” would make the most hilarious and fitting obituary for him possible, but it still wasn’t exactly the way he wanted to be remembered. So, back to crouching between her legs and letting her buck up against him and rip the bedding to shreds with inhuman strength. 

As he moved in closer, Tony wasn’t sure if the heat was from her body or his own breath, but it was heady enough to make him close his eyes and savor it. He remembered in every detail the way she tasted—like sin itself, rich and wrong and _perfect_ —and the way her body responded to him even when she tried to fight it, the way she folded herself around him and contorted until as much of their skin was touching as was physically possible, the way she deliberately clenched around him so as to milk his cock until he was shaking and panting and all but sobbing into the side of her neck. He suspected that she got off on that, on holding him afterward and stroking his hair, cooing what might as well have been Swahili into his ear, for all that he was able to concentrate, as he jerked and rode out the rest of his body’s spasms and then finally climbed off of her. 

_Later_ , he thought, after he gave up any pretenses of maintaining his self-control. He had enough willpower as of yet to keep massaging her thighs to get her shivering with need, black oil stains from his hands blooming across creamy white flesh and smudging with every movement. 

That first slow but by no means tentative touch, when he finally lowered his tongue to prod at her clit, never failed to make her stiffen and then relax in one split second, exhaling a long if shuddering sigh full of tension. Tony bent a little and dipped his tongue shallowly inside her, gathering the moisture there and sliding up to spread it where it could be put to better immediate use. The second and third trips were just for extra precautions, clearly. 

If he concentrated, he could almost feel her throbbing for him, the blood in her swollen clit just a half-breath from the beat of her heart. And when he tasted it for real this time, when he put his tongue to it and stayed there, it felt a bit like how he imagined it might to taste a live electrical wire. Not with the shocks and imminent death and everything (though to be fair, he wouldn’t rule that out in his present company), but more like a surge of energy and fear and that unmistakable rush of being alive and well aware he was doing something very stupid and very likely to get him killed. But then: danger junkie. If it didn’t kill him the first time, it only made him braver and dumber, made him want to up the stakes and go for broke next time. It made him want to push and poke until he found the limits, and then trample right over them just to see if he could. His relationship—if it could really be called that—with Loki was no different. 

He didn’t spend too much time on her clit, not yet, preferring to tease her into begging or ordering him for more later. Rather, he took his time exploring every fold and crevice, tracing the labia with his tongue and nibbling gently at places with just his lips and sometimes a hint of teeth. He slowed himself down and worshiped her as a goddess, a terrible deity capable of either blessing or cursing him, and that was what Loki had always wanted, wasn’t it? Turned out more often than not that, no, that wasn’t it, at least not if the way he or she, depending on the night, swore and threatened Tony to just get on with it and stop teasing. 

He circled her entrance with the tip of his index finger, eyes fixed on the way Loki clenched and tried to pull the digit into her body. It didn’t work, naturally, but it was a fascinating sight nonetheless. 

“God, you want it, don’t you?” he asked to no one in particular, though Loki deigned to respond by sliding her fingers out of his hair and cupping the back of his head to bring him forward, closer. Tony chuckled, but he knew better than to fight her. “If you insist.” 

That was all the warning he gave before he plunged two fingers into her while at the same time sucking her clit for the first time in earnest. Predictably, Loki arched and drew in a quick, sharp breath, then relaxed again and lay back smiling. The warm moisture around his fingers made Tony’s pulse speed along until he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, loudly enough to almost drown out the sound of Loki’s increasingly labored breathing. Ordinarily it took several minutes to get her this far, but it’d been a while since their last meeting and she evidently wasn’t in a mood to take her time. 

“More,” she rasped, hips churning against Tony’s fingers and up toward his face. He pulled his hand back just enough so that his fingers were only partially inside, then crooked them up until he felt her entire body lock down tight around him. While she was lost to this new kind of bliss, Tony risked a brief glance up the long expanse of her body, bent back over the table, and wondered at the sheer beauty of the creature stretched out like an offering before him. Smooth skin so pale as to be almost sickly, yet still somehow beautiful. Full breasts heaving in time with her desperate gasps, nipples drawn taut and standing out in blunt pink tips. Long, _long_ neck on full display, tendons stretched for maximum effect, sharp chin jutting toward the ceiling, dark hair fanning out in a pool of black behind her. The dress was a wreck, just a sliver of fabric pulled across her midsection. She _was_ gorgeous, Tony meant that every time he said it, meant it a little _more_ every time, in fact. 

Her rhythm began to falter, smooth glides turning into frantic thrusts at odd intervals as she neared her climax, and Tony knew a cue when he was given one. He lowered his head again and redoubled his efforts, dragging his tongue along one side of her clit and down the other, every now and then touching the hypersensitive tip of it just to make Loki cry out and grind harder against him. Her stomach fluttered as the waves crashed into shore, and just as Tony sensed her arching again and holding her breath, he pressed his fingers into that spot again and sucked hard at her clit to send her screaming into oblivion. 

Well, maybe not _screaming_ , but there were some impressive moans involved. 

Her body pulsed in time with her orgasm, ripples shocking her to the core and echoing around Tony’s fingers as her muscles clenched and released over and over again. He felt that same familiar warmth flood him and angled his head so that he could dip his tongue into her and get a taste. Same as always: sin, nothing but sin, slick and smooth on his lips. When he looked up again, he saw her watching him with hooded eyes and parted lips—swollen as though she’d bitten them, and maybe she had—and a faint pink flush spread from her cheeks to her chest. 

Most of the time, this would be the point at which Tony would congratulate himself on a job well done, drop his pants, and take his reward. “Take,” of course, being a relative term, because that usually also involved Loki all but clawing at him and demanding he fuck her right that instant, like he really needed to be given an order like that in the first place. _Most_ of the time. The times when Loki didn’t leave him hanging for weeks without so much as an inexplicable and potentially deadly gift dropped off while Tony was out. The times when she (or he) showed up every few days or so to share a drink or leave a supposedly “anonymous” tip or . . . okay, Loki really only ever came by for sex, but there’d been a couple times when he’d shown up – always male, curiously – with blood and filth caked onto his skin and clothing. He’d sit on the balcony outside Tony’s bedroom and barely touch the scotch Tony took out to him, and he’d meditate or nap or whatever it was that he did while he gave his body time to heal from his latest fight. 

_Lady_ Loki, as Tony had begun calling her expressly because he knew it pissed her off, wasn’t so easily swayed. She came and went as she pleased, and the _only_ time she ever appeared was because she planned to fuck Tony through the mattress. Which was perfectly fine with him, but sometimes, not that he’d admit it, he kind of missed sharing a quiet hour or two with Loki out on the balcony, the two of them watching birds fly by and listening to the ocean below them. 

Anyway, yeah. That’s how it went most of the time. Lately, though, Loki had been even more elusive than usual. Tony enjoyed a challenge and a chase, liked working for whatever he wanted, but he had limits. Loki, as always, had run roughshod right over them. 

So Tony didn’t give her a chance to come down off her high (and part of him wondered for a brief moment of insanity what it would be like to actually get Loki high, if she even _could_ get high, and just how much collateral damage that would entail; maybe she’d just sit on the couch with him giggling at everything and eating Froot Loops straight out of the box and he’d successfully privatize world peace for the second time in his life). The opposite, actually, as he ignored her startled noises and continued flicking his tongue against her clit, rolling the nub so that it scraped against his teeth now and then for a bit more deliciously painful friction. Loki tried to squirm away but let herself be stopped – and she did let herself, because she was still a god (goddess?) and had hurled Tony _in the suit_ across an entire city block before, so she wasn’t exactly a weakling – and let Tony pretend to have some measure of control over the situation by gripping her thighs and holding them apart whenever she made a halfhearted effort to pull them shut. 

“St—ark.” The name broke on a moan halfway out of her mouth, only further encouraging Tony to guide Loki’s legs up over his shoulders to give him more room. With her thighs clamped against his ears, every other noise was muffled but the obscene, wet sounds echoing even more loudly in Tony’s head. He slid his hands over her thighs, this time smearing black oil from the shop and Loki’s own fluids across her skin, and when he pulled them back, he slipped his arms up under her to bring himself closer, the back of her thighs pressed against his shoulders, his arms curled so that his hands curved over her thighs up near her hips. 

Loki shuddered deep in her bones, muscles trembling hard enough for Tony to feel them against his own body, and he smiled to himself when the first touch of his tongue against Loki’s too-sensitive clit made her twist nearly out of his grasp. He held on, and given Loki’s incredible strength and how easily she could snap him in half if she pleased, she gave up without much of a fight. 

“Stark,” she tried again, slightly more confident this time, and Tony ignored her pleas for reason in favor of lapping up over her core. A few well-aimed strokes of his fingers and she came again, harder the second time, thighs tensing with frightening strength around Tony’s head. “Suffocation via cunnilingus” or “crushed like a grape, also while performing cunnilingus” – either one would be an apt obituary. Certainly better than “Former Stark CEO found dead of alcohol poisoning in bathroom” or, God forbid, something involving those A.I.M. rejects. 

Loki made another failed attempt to push him away, going so far as to pull her legs back and push at Tony’s shoulders with her heels, but she didn’t push even remotely hard enough to make him move. 

So Tony stayed. 

And Loki came. 

Again. 

Around the fourth time her body arched from the table, right about the time when Tony was amusing himself by licking a trail of come from where it had seeped out of her, Loki grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled hard enough to at least earn his attention. 

“That’s enough.” 

Tony licked his lips, fully aware of how Loki couldn’t take her eyes off him – even if her own were a little glazed over. 

“You really want me to stop?” 

Loki hesitated, her mouth twisting into a frown, and Tony chuckled. 

“Yeah. That’s what I thought.” 

A few minutes later, Loki came again. 

“I will – by the Nine, Tony Stark, I will gut you like a fish if you don’t stop this,” she panted breathlessly, but the effect was kind of lost when Tony looked up to see strands of hair plastered to her face and held there through the faint sheen of sweat. And, for that matter, how hard her nipples still were and how happily she was still fondling them. 

“Gotta do better than that, princess. Stark family _and_ company policy is that no one goes unsatisfied.” 

Loki was arrogant and egocentric enough to never admit to that outright, so Tony knew he’d backed her into a corner. Knew that she knew it, too, when she lifted her head to stare daggers down at him and then just slumped back on the table with a resigned groan when Tony’s fingers pressed into her once more. 

After the sixth time, Tony had to reach for a clean, soft cloth from a drawer and gently sop away the dampness between Loki’s legs, and though he was gentle, she still whimpered and shivered under his touch. That alone was enough incentive for Tony to rest his head against her thigh and give her a few seconds to recover before the next round. 

“I’m still planning on fucking you, you know.” 

“Of course you are,” Loki half-laughed, half-whined, nails scraping lightly between her breasts as she dragged her hand down to her stomach. She didn’t bother looking at Tony, just heaved a defeated sigh when the warmth of Tony’s mouth reached her. 

After the seventh time, she ran out of insults and threats. 

After the eighth time, Tony was about to concede the win until he realized Loki was no longer fighting. Rather, she just lay across the table, alternately tensing and going limp, sweat beading all over her body, one arm slung over her eyes, and that was when he knew she really was too wrung out to go on. 

“I think that might be a personal best,” Tony gloated. Whether it was true or not, it was better than complaining about the fact he was afraid he might never regain full use of his tongue. Loki grunted something unintelligible in response (and honestly, it was probably another insult) but made no further comment. 

“Aw, baby,” Tony said, smirking as he stood and then leaned over the table, brushing Loki’s hair from her face with more delicacy than Loki would ever allow him in her right mind. “Did I wear you out?” 

Loki dropped the arm hiding her eyes. 

“Hardly. I was about to fall asleep for want of entertainment.” 

Tony laughed. “ _So_ full of shit.” 

And then, finally, Loki smiled up at him, free and open, and Tony refused to acknowledge the way his pulse jumped. Loki so rarely graced him with anything but derision and the same kind of fondness one might reserve for a favorite pet; she so rarely showed him that she could, on occasion, actually be _happy_. It was all probably just a ruse, and Tony realized that. That didn’t make it any less special for being given these brief, infrequent glimpses into what Loki might have been like had she led a different life, if even just one or two things had gone differently. On her worst days, the days when Tony had to see his teammates, his _friends_ , nursing injuries, on the days when her latest stunt had led to mass casualties and lost lives, Tony wondered why he didn’t kill her any of the many chances she allowed him. When she opened herself up to him like this – literally, of course, but figuratively, emotionally – he knew it would be the only chance he’d ever have to take her down. He’d deal with the fallout with Thor later; Nick Fury might well even shake his hand. 

It was exactly _because_ she opened herself up to him that he couldn’t bring himself to take those thoughts seriously the next day. Guilt led him to divert company money to cleanup and recovery efforts, to establish a memorial scholarship or fund a new school to replace the old one that had gotten dropped into the middle of a warzone, to anonymously pay for the funeral services of anyone who died as a result of his own inability to stop Loki when he could. Guilt led him to drink himself into unconsciousness on any given night. But he never turned her away. 

“Why do you do it?” he’d asked during one of those times when Loki, angles and lines and too-sharp features again, showed up on the balcony. An untouched scotch on the table next to him, as per usual, Loki sat with his back against the balcony railing with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, exposing dried blood on his neck and disappearing under the collar of his tunic. 

“It doesn’t have to go like this, Loki. I’m not saying you have to become an Avenger or even stop being a little shithead, ‘cause I know that’s like asking you not to breathe, but you don’t . . . Why do you do it?” 

Tony thought maybe Loki was asleep or ignoring him like the petulant asshole he so often was until, after several quiet seconds, Loki’s eyes cracked open and he stared so plainly at Tony that somehow Tony felt like a moron for ever asking such a thing. 

“Why do you allow it?” 

Typical, really, that Loki never, _ever_ gave answers, just piled riddles on top of riddles, but that was the last time Tony tried to get anywhere near that topic. 

“Stop thinking.” Loki interrupted Tony’s thoughts in the present, her voice, her presence, curling through his mind like smoke. Maybe that was some undiscovered (or undocumented) part of her magic; or maybe, Tony thought, leaning into the hand curved against his cheek, that was another kind of magic entirely and he was just an easy mark. 

“Let’s face it: if I stopped being self-absorbed and too smart for my own good, you’d be a lot less interested in me.” 

Loki’s lips pursed as though she meant to call him on his obvious aversion to talking about what was really on his mind, but maybe that, too, was just a pretense to make her seem like she gave even half a damn about him as anything but a temporary distraction. Tony didn’t know and, moreover, wasn’t even disturbed by how much he didn’t care. 

“I imagine that you would also be much more tolerable. But I suppose we all must make sacrifices from time to time.” 

Tony snorted and leaned down farther to nuzzle the side of Loki’s neck. 

“And when was the last time you sacrificed anything but maybe a small child or some cute, fuzzy animal?” 

Loki tensed under him, a sure sign that Tony had poked too hard at a sore spot. Never being one for backpedaling, he plowed straight on ahead and hoped for the best. 

“Oh, that’s right. My Porsche. You totally sacrificed that a few weeks ago. I’m still not over that, by the way.” 

Rolling her eyes, Loki sat up and circled her arms around Tony’s neck, legs splayed on either side of him. 

“You speak entirely too freely, and too often. I might sacrifice _you_ next.” 

“You’d miss me.” 

“Yes, so you keep reminding me. You should know that I existed a very long time without you, and in a hundred years when you are no more than ash and bones, I will have already forgotten you and continued to exist without you.” 

“Okay, first, that’s cold. Second, are you kidding? There’s a fucking Burger King toy line in my honor. I’m already immortal. Third, and most importantly, I don’t think I can stress enough just _how_ full of shit you really are.” 

“Stark.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Stop talking.” 

It wasn’t the clipped, authoritative tone of her voice that made him comply, wasn’t the hard set to her eyes when she stared him down; it _wasn’t_ , it was just that his brain always short-circuited when she scratched her nails over his skin. She usually didn’t have the patience for this, more inclined to just wave her hand or mutter a few words and leave them both naked. All told, that was a particularly useful talent for which Tony was exceedingly grateful. But now and then he still liked to take his time and revel in undressing her and exposing patches of her pristine skin one garment at a time. He was also an unapologetic narcissist, so he also liked undressing for her and turning it into a show. She feigned boredom and made snappy remarks about him to get on with it, but she never looked away, never looked like she was anything short of enraptured. 

This time was no different, however unfocused her gaze was, however much her fingers still trembled with the last shocks of her repeated orgasms. She slid his shirt up and off, her nails (talons, more like) leaving faint scratches for a second or two to mark her progress. Ah, there it was: it used to disturb Tony that Loki seemed entirely too fascinated by the arc reactor. It still bothered him, actually, but if she meant to rip it out and laugh at him as he went into cardiac arrest, he figured that she would have done that a long time ago. Like every other time, she placed her hands flat on either side of Tony’s chest and stared, face even paler in the light blue glow of the reactor, and her expression was as haunting as it was beautiful. Tony was never certain if she looked more like a starving man eying a steak or a zealot finding a priceless holy relic; neither idea sat well with him when the object in question was the only thing standing between him and death. 

Loki stared at the reactor as though she it held all her answers, as though it could solve every puzzle and she could figure it out only by sight. Tony enjoyed seeing others openly appreciate his genius and the applications of that genius, but this was something else, too much even for him. He always expected her to go from stroking the reactor to digging it from his chest with only her fingers, laughing the entire time as Tony pleaded with her; the closest she had come to doing anything like that was placing her palm over it and curling her fingers around the casing, then twisting her hand as one might when opening a jar. Tony immediately grabbed her wrist as if he had any hopes of being strong enough to stop her, but she only looked at him and relaxed her hand against his chest. He let go, and she moved on. 

It had been weird for Tony to see in the mirror every day for a long time, but eventually he’d gotten used to it and gone back to his old routine of checking for more gray hairs first instead of gawking at the ugly ruin of his chest. Loki, it seemed, never got past that, not even when there were far more productive ways Tony could use his body to amuse her. 

“I’ll get you one for Christmas,” he joked, chin to his chest as he watched her fingers splay out over the reactor. “Or Yuletide. Whatever you celebrate. Winter Solstice?” 

Loki hummed noncommittally, like that was supposed to mean anything when Tony could barely interpret her actual verbal responses most of the time, but then she leaned forward and _licked_ around the metal casing, over scars and dead tissue and other skin that was too sensitive for that kind of treatment. Tony groaned and sank his fingers deep into Loki’s hair, pressing his face to the top of her head to hide the weirdly satisfied grimace distorting his features. Sometimes she didn’t look at him as though she actually saw him. Tony half-suspected she saw reminders of her own failure instead, the poorly understood power in the azure glow of his chest reminding her of another glowing source of power she couldn’t control. “Tony Stark, death by murderous psychopath chiseling a glorified pacemaker from his chest to make a Tesseract Mach II prototype” was probably too long to be an obituary headline, but at least it was unique. 

Loki’s arms circled his waist and Tony stilled, waiting for her to slide her hands into the seat of his jeans or higher up on his back. What he failed to anticipate – what he _always_ failed to anticipate where Loki was concerned – was that she rarely acted as he thought she would. In this case, between one breath and the next, the world tilted and blurred out of focus, his guts felt as though they were sucked through a tube somewhere in his throat, and then everything coalesced into one painfully sudden moment when he found himself off-balance without the table to support him. Loki still sat with her legs wrapped around him, but this time she was . . . damn her, she was on the hood of a vintage Jaguar Tony had recently bought to give himself something to fix that didn’t shoot lasers. 

“You’re kidding,” he said without a trace of belief in himself, because really, Loki never joked about what she wanted. The way she was looking up at Tony, mouth barely parted into a sly grin, this was no exception. “Fuck it. Fuck _you_. Whatever. I don’t even care anymore.” 

Gleeful as ever when she got her way, Loki’s smile broadened and she purred happily in Tony’s ear, stretching so that she could arch against him, and . . . yeah, that was just uncalled for. Practically growling, Tony grabbed Loki’s hips and pulled her from the car, apparently taking her by surprise well enough that she didn’t fight him. Nor did she fight when he spun her around and spread his palm in the center of her back, pushing her face-down over the hood. 

“I will _not_ be taken from behind like a dog, you miserable –” 

“Shut up,” Tony cut her off, holding her down with one hand and fumbling with his belt and the fly of his jeans with the other. “You wanna mess up another one of my cars? Fine. But we’re doing it my way.” 

The glare Loki aimed at Tony over her shoulder could have melted steel, but Tony was having none of it. They’d already negotiated damn near every possible kink in every possible permutation a long time ago (and come to the mutual conclusion that outside of murder, there really wasn’t much they hadn’t already done or weren’t willing to try). Safe words were pointless when Loki could crush Tony’s head with her bare hands and Tony himself was enough of a glutton that, again, nothing short of murder was likely to faze him enough to want to stop. If she wanted him to stop, she’d make that abundantly clear. 

She’d also make it clear if she was arguing just for the sake of harassing him by pressing her ass back against his crotch and hiding her smile in the crook of her arm tucked under her head. 

Tony breathed a quiet sigh of relief when his jeans finally slid to his ankles and gave his cock some much-needed room. He pushed the waistband of his boxers down over his hips just far enough to free his straining erection from the last of its confines. Four quick strokes was all it took to get back the firmness that had shriveled a bit thanks to the unexpected teleport across the workshop, and as he lined himself up, he bent over Loki’s back and kiss her shoulder blade. 

“Think you can come again for me, babe?” 

He could almost feel Loki’s eyes rolling back in her skull, but to her credit she didn’t elbow him in the face. 

“You could try and find out. That might be more productive.” 

“Not a bad idea. See, I knew there was a reason I kept you around.” 

Whatever Loki was about to say in response was pushed out on a thin breath as Tony slid into her, the way made that much easier by how slick she was already. 

“God _damn_ , Loki,” Tony whispered with something close to reverence, his hand smoothing down her back to settle low, just above the swell of her ass, while the other curled around her hip. She quivered under him, though he couldn’t tell if it was from overstimulation or the promise of even more. Knowing Loki, probably both. 

Tony bowed his head to watch the first time he pulled out, biting his lip to see his dick already coated with Loki’s wetness. The head was the approximate shade of a deep blush, a sure enough sign that Tony wouldn’t hold out long. Given how Loki was all but vibrating under him with how hard she was still trembling, she might be just fine with that. 

Tightening his hold on Loki’s hip was the only warning Tony gave before thrusting back in, the response to which was the breathtaking sight of Loki arching under him like a graceful cat. She pushed back to meet him, and though her face was hidden behind a fall of dark hair, Tony had no doubt that she was smiling. 

“Look at you, you’re soaked. Not sure what you’re really getting out of it at this point, but my _God_ , you’re doing it for me.” 

“So honored,” Loki gritted out, frustration at Tony’s lack of movement putting a sharper edge on her words. 

Tony slid his hand from Loki’s back down over her ass, offered a firm squeeze by way of apology (at least as much of one he was willing to make), and danced his fingertips lightly over the outside of Loki’s thigh. The muscle tensed immediately, the flex reminding Tony of exactly how very strong Loki actually was even when she looked like every other model he’d ever taken to bed – no, scratch that. Loki didn’t look anything like anyone he’d ever seen, much less slept with. She had an allure in either form, a presence that Tony simply hadn’t found in any other living creature from this planet, and it figured that it literally took something out of this world to catch and hold his attention for longer than a couple nights. 

Moving inward from her thigh, his palm skated up and over the mound, down farther until her felt her still-swollen clit under his fingers. Loki went perfectly still for the barest fraction of an instant before letting out a noise that, Tony was convinced, very few humans could make. She bent as though in pain, which in turn made Tony’s brow furrow and his hand stop; Loki shot him that same annoyed look over her shoulder and Tony snorted. Point taken. 

The angle was a bit of a challenge, but Tony was nothing if not determined. Loki’s absurd height helped a great deal as well; even without her heels on, she was still tall enough that Tony didn’t have to put himself in too much discomfort to keep sliding his fingers over her clit while his other hand held firm to her hip as he began to thrust in earnest. When Loki’s hips snapped forward in time with each push and smacked his hand against the car, Tony cursed under his breath and mourned for the nasty bruises that were sure to be there in the morning. Loki, as always, was completely unconcerned with Tony’s welfare – or that of his car, Tony realized, wincing as Loki flung her arms out and curled her fingers into the hood, dents forming under the weight of her impressive grip. Alien-god-thing. Right. 

“Hey. Hey, you mind?” Tony asked, concern making him let go of Loki’s hip long enough to reach forward and swat the closest arm to draw Loki’s attention to the body damage she was causing. If she heard, she didn’t care, and Tony . . . kind of didn’t care either, to be honest. How could he, when Loki bent back toward him and pulled her hands over the hood, scoring deep gouges into the steel and filling the room with the grating sound of metal dragging against metal? The car swayed gently back and forth as Tony picked up speed; if his hand was going to bruised, Loki’s hips were going to look like they’d taken a beating as well. He’d have to get her to let him admire the marks before they healed over with her stupidly rapid ability to heal herself. 

“Come on, baby,” he murmured into Loki’s ear when she was close enough, holding her with his hand draped over her cunt while he continued to thrust into her with as much speed and force as he could reasonably maintain. “I know you got one more in you. Come on. Come _on_ , baby, let go, just one more, okay?” 

_It is incredibly difficult to focus with your endless inane rambling, Stark._

Tony jumped at the voice in his mind, soft and as unobtrusive as a spider’s web. Another one of Loki’s many talents, one she didn’t use often (on Tony, anyway) but which nevertheless got the point across. Tony focused instead on chasing his own climax, so close he could feel his blood throbbing in his temples and his stomach tightening in anticipation. 

Loki whimpered something in a language Tony didn’t understand and drew up tight as a bowstring, gasping desperately for air as she grinded down onto Tony’s hand and came hard enough that the spasms pulled Tony along with her. Loki slumped forward against the car, hips still rolling in mindless circles, and Tony followed quickly after, his own orgasm hitting in response to the tight clench of Loki’s body around his cock. 

_You’re perfect, this is perfect,_ we’re _perfect_ , Tony thought as he spilled inside her, and he might have said something to that effect out loud, if the sudden tension in Loki’s shoulders was anything to go by. He tried to smooth it over by slowing his movements and leaning forward to kiss the back of her neck, but by then Loki seemed more interested in shamelessly humping the car anyway. 

Trusting himself to move again, Tony pulled out and tried to remind himself he was supposed to be grossed out and not helplessly turned on by the mixture of fluids coating his dick, but damned if he could regret anything right about then. 

“You owe me another car,” he said to break the silence a couple minutes later, leaning with his back against the car while Loki straightened up and made a good effort at hiding the way she still trembled all over. 

“I can fix that.” She eyed the marks she’d left, then checked her nails and frowned. Typical. Tony laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it. I mean, yeah, I’m still kind of pissed about you using my Porsche as a battering ram against Hulk – not just because I happen to be fond of the guy, but that was a limited edition and everything – but I think I can live with this.” He reached over to pat the deep ruts in the metal. “Adds character. Plus, if I ever put it up on eBay or something, should get my reserve back solely for ‘imperfections made by gorgeous alien getting fucked senseless over the hood.’ They might make me censor that, though.” 

“Do you ever tire of hearing your own voice?” 

“Do you?” 

“When I rip out your tongue, you’ll find out.” 

“You get way more out of my tongue than my witty conversation.” 

Loki stared pensively into the middle distance, then came back with a vague but definitely satisfied grin. “I suppose that might be true.” 

Tony chuckled and raked his hand through his hair, cringing immediately afterward when he remembered the multiple substances that had gathered on his skin recently. A shimmer from the corner of his eye drew his attention to Loki again, now back at the worktable and looking exactly the same as when she first entered the room: hair sleek and straight, shoes on, dress . . . well, to be fair, that dress was never _right_ , but she at least wouldn’t be arrested for indecent exposure on the street. 

“Take it that means you’re not gonna stick around for the awkward pillow talk and the even more awkward morning after.” 

“You say that as though you’ve ever done it yourself.” 

“It’s usually my house, so, yeah. I _am_ usually around for the awkward morning after part.” 

Loki smoothed down the hem of her dress and fixed her gaze on Tony, or maybe the center of his brain; he still could never tell when she was looking _at_ him or looking _through_ him. 

“Would you have me stay?” 

“I like how your weird fake Shakespearean language makes everything you say really convoluted and open to like, twenty different interpretations.” 

Loki’s fingers curled around the hem of the dress before flattening again, a nervous gesture that almost went unnoticed – almost, but Tony noticed just in time to realize Loki had couched an honest offer in complicated terms, as usual, and he’d mocked her for it. Genius, maybe, but Pepper was right; he really could be a dumbass now and then. 

“I see.” 

Tony considered trying to salvage what was left, but Loki’s eyes slid away from his and the tense set of her shoulders made it clear that whatever she had been willing to give him had been taken back. He sighed and glanced down at himself, then back at her. 

“I didn’t . . .” Tony didn’t do apologies well and Loki didn’t accept them, so Tony floundered, hands waving helplessly for a moment before he awkwardly crossed his arms over his chest. “At least stick around for the possibly also awkward but no doubt entertaining post-coital shower?” 

Loki moved like a snake, her hips swaying and charming Tony so that it took a considerable effort to pull his eyes up to meet hers when she was standing right in front of him. She pressed a cloth into his hand – the same he’d used on her earlier, naturally, because Loki never did anything without a purpose – and leaned in to press a bizarrely chaste kiss to his cheek. 

“Next time, perhaps.” 

The cloth wadded up in Tony’s fist. 

“So there _is_ gonna be a next time. Right?” 

Loki only gave that same enigmatic smile in response, irritatingly (and falsely) coy as ever, offering more questions in place of answers, but Tony didn’t press the matter. 

“Have a good night, Tony Stark.” 

Tony would never fully grasp how Loki could be right there and then just disappear with barely a shimmer. She was there, and then there was a faint haze like over asphalt in July, and then nothing. He didn’t get to hear the _clickclick_ of her heels as she walked away, didn’t get to watch the flex of her thighs with every step, didn’t get to play that game of “will she or won’t she” when she got to the door and either kept going or hesitated to take a last look behind her. All he had was the rag in his hand, a car with damages that would be very difficult to explain if anyone noticed, a too-smart A.I. that was probably judging him and queuing up its sternest lectures for later, and the hint of smoke and cinnamon that wafted in the air. 

With a quiet laugh, he shook his head and tossed the rag into a nearby trash can. 

“Already have.” 

She’d be back. She always came back, the embodiment of chaos and turmoil in Tony’s life that always, _always_ came back for him. Came back to taunt him, fuck him, use him and then abandon him to the shadowy corners of his own mind. 

Tony had never been able to outrun chaos. 

She had to come back.


End file.
